


Green-eyed Monster

by Omano



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Cat Dean, Cat Sam, Established Relationship, Fluff, Jealous Michael, Jealousy, M/M, Michael really hates Cas and Dean's profound bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omano/pseuds/Omano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are turned into cats by a witch. While they wait for the spell to wear off Lucifer and Castiel are on kitten-sitting duty, and since Dean hates to feel neglected he tries all he can to make Michael green with jealousy. Even as a cat it isn't really that hard to accomplish...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jorie2127 (dsha801)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsha801/gifts).



> So, I was in a terribly stressed out mood and asked D'sha for a prompt, and she gave me Sam and Dean turned into cats and some jealous!Michael about Cas. Because that's just something I can't let go, and Lucifer with a cat is just way too adorable thought :)
> 
> I know I should be working on so many other things, like my Dream of a Stairway to the skies where Michael and Dean are just about to meet up (I'm working on it, trust me!, and basically this is from the same universe), or the sequel I promised for my blind!Dean AU (working on that too) and also my goddamn thesis... but I needed this to unwind a bit... So, please, enjoy!

_“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;_ __  
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock  
The meat it feeds on.”   
-Iago (3.3.165-167)

 

Number one lesson of being a Winchester – life is unfair. But there have been only a few times Dean has hated his life more than at the very moment.

He hates witches, they really are just trouble, and next time Lucifer is out for blood he would subtly suggest those sons of bitches. Who will miss them anyway?

They were on a job, simple like stealing candy from a toddler, really, but somehow these are always the cases where Hell breaks loose. The bitch wanted angel feathers for something or other, he could totally care less, which they denied of course, and Cas just turned up when a spell went haywire and hit both Dean and Sam. Castiel, good soldier as he was bless his grace, frayed the witch and her henchmen, which for the record was pretty badass move Dean had to give it to the angel, and barely had time to grab both Winchesters before the house collapsed on top of them.

However, instead of saying thanks for the rescue, or bitching about it, it depended on the adrenaline level cruising in their veins, it was only a shocked mewl that escaped Dean and that’s the story how he ended up under the couch in Bobby’s living room. It was pretty scary to suddenly find oneself scooped up in an angel’s arms being like one foot tall and having no thumbs at all.

Turning into a cat, whole hairy ball of demise and awkward extra limbs was definitely not on Dean’s bucket list!

At first he was trembling with the adrenaline rush and was all wide-eyed and bristling whiskers and he couldn’t believe that he was turned into a freaking cat (and for the record Sam was no better, but he at least ended up with long hair, a Persian, maybe, Dean isn’t up to date on the topic of cats), then resignation mingled with irritation.

From his post he can still see past Castiel’s shadow where Lucifer just enters the room with Sam in tow. Now that Lucifer doesn’t smell of brimstone and death anymore after spending like an hour out in the autumn breeze Sam is circling his ankles at each cautious step in tight eight-shapes and he’s purring as if Satan was fucking catnip. Well, for Sam, he probably is. 

And this is the point where Dean’s irritation, still after an hour of napping out the stress connects. How come that Satan can drop by without a goddamn prayer to see if Sam was okay, while Michael is still nowhere near this plane?

At first Dean was worried sick that maybe something was wrong, a battle started after Lucifer returned from Hell in such a hurry and Michael had to clean up the mess, but then he remembered that the only real challenge to Heaven’s greatest douchebag was currently awkwardly getting used to his boyfriend wearing a cat1s form.

So yes, Dean quickly reminds himself that he is **_very_** pissed. His tail twitches according to that in the periphery of his view.

Right now his gaze hangs on Castiel’s drumming fingertips.

“Come on, Dean,” the angel rumbles for him. He has been trying in vain to coerce Dean out from under the couch for the past five minutes. “You can’t stay there forever.”

Dean only scoffs in reply, but slowly inches a tiny bit closer to the golden light and the shadow of those long fingers.

Maybe it’s just the memory of Cas’ hand on his shoulder as a grounding presence, and being a cat really comes with some nagging for being touched and petted (he is still desperately fighting that, but come on! Even he has his limits).

“You don’t want to turn back into human form under that couch,” Castiel tries one last time and Dean can imagine the frown deep over his brows.

Indeed, that would be awkward, but Dean is fairly certain he didn’t sleep that long.

Lucifer chuckles from the armchair, amused and low, and it makes Castiel rise to his feet and turn his blue gaze to Satan.

“Ready to give up?” Lucifer taunts. “He isn’t worth the effort, Castiel, just let him be.”

Cas doesn’t answer for a while, but Dean suspects that he’s scowling. He has gotten far more at ease in Lucifer’s presence than he is in Michael’s.

Dean inches another few millimetres closer to the edge of the couch.

“He is.” Cas states. “I believe Sam wants you to pet him.”

Now, that makes Dean curious. Hiding behind Castiel’s ankle he peeks over to see Lucifer sitting in the armchair.

“Since when are you such an expert on cats?” Lucifer shoots back dryly, but despite his jibe, he really looks uncomfortable in his vessel. Dean allows himself the cat equivalent of a grin. Instead of his usual casualty and ease it looks as if someone has shoved a stick up the Devil’s ass, hands just this much away from crawling at the armrest as Sam settled in his lap and is now eying Lucifer’s tie as if it was his dinner.

Speaking of which…

“Mew,” okay, this is embarrassing, but it seems conversation on his part could go as far as hissing and mewling for a few days. Hopefully.

Michael could really saunter his holy ass down here and snap his fingers to magic this goddamn catskin and the itch for being petted away. Why hasn’t Lucifer done that just yet, again?

“Hello Dean,” Cas turns his oh-so-disturbingly blue eyes on him, and there is that not-really-there-but-still smile that always makes Dean feel unworthy in his little life. Thank fuck cats can’t blush! He can’t help any longer and tentatively rubs his head against Castiel’s leg. “Good to see you in the open.”

Bitch, Dean thinks, but since he isn’t really in the position to word his thoughts properly he sits down and looks up at Castiel expectantly.

“That you crawled out doesn’t mean you are going to change back into human immediately,” Cas tells him and stares back.

Dean’s tail sweeps from one side to the other without his consent. If Cas mentions it again, he’ll start crawling up his pants legs uncaring if his claws cut a little deeper. Where are Cas’ mind-reading abilities when they would make their lives just this bit more bearable?

“You don’t like it when I read your mind, may I remind you,” Cas says dryly with the soft glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Narrowing his eyes back in irritation Dean mewls again and concentrates hard to pronounce it well. _Bitch_.

“Are you hungry Dean?”

Cas crouches down in front of him and Dean cautiously stands and inches back a bit, hind legs bent, rear closer to the ground. He really doesn’t want to be scooped up, it’s too much like flying, hanging up in the air, and it’s really something he doesn’t need at the moment. But Castiel only reaches out a hand. Dean leans closer and sniffs at the proffered limb. Cas smells nice, he notes. Like fresh evergreen and rain at dusk and that heady scent of power that still lingers on his fingers after fraying one’s brains out.

Dean tilts his head and Cas takes it as invitation to stroke his head—

And oh, hello! Cas has magic fingers! Dean doesn’t even realize, just when a low chuckle rumbles in the angel’s chest, that he leaned into the caress with his whole body, eyes squinted shut and he is just barely not purring.

“I’m sorry, Dean but we’ll have to wait for Bobby and Jody to get back from the market.”

It takes a while for Dean’s endorphin flooded mind to connect the dots, but before his mood could fall back into agitation Cas’ magic fingers move to scratch him behind the ears.

That’s the point when Dean sells his soul for the second time.

“Maybe I should go and inform Michael about the situation,” Cas says and straightens to glance over his shoulder at Lucifer.

Dean’s tail twitches in irritation that he is neglected and headbutts Cas, but soon he remembers that he has a brother to check on.

“Hmm…?” Lucifer murmurs. Dean has the urge to grin again and itch for his phone because that’s just a picture he has to use for future blackmail.

Sam is sprawled out on his back, rumbling like the Impala on the road and playing with Lucifer’s tie, while the Devil looks at him with a strange mix of affection and irritation spiked with a good amount of confusion at his mate. (Lucifer is doing surprisingly well with his history of dealing with pets – that has usually been pretty bloody if it wasn’t for Adam and Sam stopping him from dismantling the annoying quipping four-legged beasts.)

“I said, maybe I should—“

This is as far as Castiel gets before the lights flicker and the windows crack in a long line in their frames and suddenly Michael is standing in the middle of the living room.

Mewling irritated and frightened, with puffed up tail Dean rushes to hide behind Castiel’s legs.

“Wondered when you’d finally turn up,” Lucifer sneers at his brother, but just to be sure puts a comforting hand over Sam’s back who stares at Michael with wide eyes, ears twitching and turning backwards.

“I have a lot to do,” Michael gives back dryly and without turning, his gaze is everywhere in the house. “I just came to see what kind of emergency you’d need me here for.”

“If it were an emergency, you’d be horribly late, dear brother.”

Dean has to agree with Lucifer on this one. He scoffs in indignation and at that Michael’s eyes zero in on him, and for a moment Dean wishes he was swallowed by the ground. Being trapped in the form of a cat in the face of Michael’s eternal being? Uncomfortable as Hell.

“What’s happened?” Michael asks as if he was conversing about the weather and steps forward to then sink to one knee in front of Dean. His eyes are disturbingly intense.

“A witch has turned both Sam and Dean into cats,” Castiel answers; Dean growls at the way Michael’s eyes flash up at the lower ranked angel as if realizing a pest’s presence for the first time. But Cas is tougher than that and even though he’s tense as a rough marble statue, he doesn’t let himself be intimidated. “She was searching for angel feathers for most likely some kind of time-travel spell—“

“And what is it with them?” Michael motions with his chin toward Dean.

“The spell has already started to wear off. Maybe you could take a look as well, just to be sure—“

There is a massive wave of hostility rolling off Michael when Dean rubs his flank to the back of Castiel’s calf in a way of saying thanks that he didn’t sell his own anxiousness off. Dean hisses at Michael, to which the archangel frowns and reaches out a stiff hand in his direction. Dean only glares at him. He is angry. If it was a goddamn emergency he’d be seeing his boyfriend, mate, whatever the hell they were already up in Heaven most likely, so he is totally rightfully goddamn pissed.

“Dean.” Michael scowls in dismay and that’s the last drop.

The cat hisses and leaps first to the couch’s armrest then to Castiel’s shoulder. There he slips a bit and soon Cas gets a shoulder full of claws, but hey, he probably doesn’t even feel it.

“Watch it,” Cas warns but steadies Dean on his shoulder.

He gets a little lick to the ear as an apology.

Suddenly all light bulbs burst and along with the already cracked windows a shower of glass floods the room.

In the middle Michael stands, expression cold and eyes wild like a storm.

“It is wearing off,” he states and Dean feels the fur along his spine standing on end. “I’m not needed here.”

A blink later Michael is gone.

“—ean. Dean!” Dean snaps out of it at Cas’ firm voice. “Your claws.”

 _Oh_. Dean curls himself into as tiny furball as possible on his perched post on Castiel’s shoulder. A tiny mewl escapes him. _Sorry._

“It’s all right,” Castiel sighs, “But maybe you’d better take the couch.” He rubs his hand gently against Dean’s flank to encourage him.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Lucifer quips in.

Both pairs of eyes snap at Lucifer stroking Sam affectionately to soothe the puffed up thick fur on his back.

“The couch is more comfortable than my shoulder.”

“I meant the other thing,” Lucifer smirks. “Trust me, Castiel, you’re better off on kitty-sitting duty.”

“Kitty-sitting…?”

“You go back to Heaven and Michael would be eager to find a way to send you to Hell.” He glances at the pair meaningfully.

Oh yes, the straight one-on-one angel-line the two oldest share.

Castiel keeps on scowling a little while before he groans and without warning sinks down on the couch. He reaches up and grabs Dean around the middle and settles him next to him.

 “I don’t appreciate what you’re playing at, Dean.”

Dean looks back at him, confused.

“Making Michael jealous.”

 _That_. Dean proceeds to look as innocent as he was the day he was born.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, right now I'm busy writing my thesis, but I managed to get one third of it done. So after each third I'll post a chapter of this thing :) (I'm sorry, but I don't have enough time and brain capacity to concentrate on my other fic :(, but you can cheer me to finish my thesis sooner and post this fic before the end of April )
> 
> Thank you for reading and please let me know whether you liked it or not! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Michael doesn’t return that night.

Dean fumes and paces about the living room, and he only doesn’t claw apart the furniture, because a) it is Bobby’s and there is just no way he would hear the end of it and b) because being pissed off in a small body demands a lot of energy. He can’t remember a time in the past thirty years he has slept this much a week! Okay, maybe at times when his body was in try-not-to-die mode but that is more unconscious than sleeping.

Quickly, he learns that it is really nice napping near people. Not in their laps per se, because that’s just awkward and too much touchy, but he just enjoys being warm. He craves golden spots of warm sunshine but it is a bit difficult when there is no sun at all, but the warmth of one’s thigh was just as great.

After Castiel glares at him for a good while for getting him involved in making Michael jealous Dean rather goes to strut around the house. So what if he feels just a tad bit guilty?

It is awesome to be able to explore Bobby’s house in cat-form. He rediscovers places they used to play hide and seek with Sammy when they were still allowed to act relatively like children. He can’t wait to pry Sam out of Lucifer’s lap and get his brother to play.

Surprising as hell, Dean feels impossibly free. And playful. But not far gone enough to snatch Castiel’s tie. That is enough for Sam.

Dean itches for thumbs and his phone to take a picture, because that would be perfect blackmail material. Or a video feed. It is ridiculous how long Sam could be occupied with Lucifer’s tie hanging over him.

~*~

When the front door opens, Dean could only get into the kitchen faster if an angel zapped him there.

“Wha- What _is_ this?” Bobby nearly drops the bag of groceries when Dean sneaks past his legs. “Get out of my way, you idjit!”

Dean mewls in indignation and leaps up onto the counter.

“No, no!” Jody reprimands and shoos him off with her own set of paper bags. “Manners, young man! No cats where we eat!”

The cat only glares at her, but Jody has this way of looking all motherly and stern and Dean can’t help how it works on him. That’s awful. So he drags his cat-sized ass a bit to the side but still on the counter. Yet, his attention is quickly distracted by the rustling of the bags.

He edges closer and with his wet nose he pokes Jody’s hand.

“What is it now?” Jody asks and strokes Dean’s head.

“Dean’s been hungry ever since you left.” Castiel says as he is suddenly sitting in one of the kitchen chairs.

Dean hears Bobby mutter under his breath something about how Castiel should wear a bell along with the freaking cats. It is indeed funny that Lucifer is more prone to walking from one place to the other than Cas.

Speaking of the Devil, not a minute later he appears in the doorway cradling Sam in his arms.

As Jody starts unpacking the bags, though, Sam wriggles his way out of Lucifer’s hold and is now sitting at Jody’s feet looking up at her just as expectantly as Dean did with Cas. If Dean’s mind wasn’t so one-tracked at the moment he would grin wide and malevolent at the way Lucifer pouts.

“I see you have gotten round the idea of pets,” Jody says with a mischievous little smile.

Lucifer takes the seat next to Cas and crosses his arms and tries to look uncaring and smug.

“If I considered putting a collar on Sam as a pet it would be rather kinky than ‘cute’.” There’s just no way to miss the air quotes.

“Why are you so against pets?” Leave it up to Jody to converse idly with Lucifer. Well, she has two famished cats staring at her at the moment, so maybe concentrating on Satan to ignore them is for the best. “Last time I thought Sam managed to drag you to the shop to get a- what was it in the end? Kitten? Pup?”

“He agreed on a puppy. He won’t ever again, I can assure you,” Lucifer replies with a smile as sweet as a snake’s.

It was a disaster.

Once there was a cat Sam brought back injured and puppy-eye-begged Lucifer into healing the beast. Sam spent the afternoon tending to the animal. Next day the ungrateful beast left. For his own part Dean knew it was for Lucifer traumatizing the poor canine into giving up Sammy’s gentle care. And also for his part as much as he is possessive, Lucifer had a strange despise for keeping animals as pets. So at the shop something kicked in and he set all the animals free.

Sam hasn’t brought up the issue of the two of them having a pet again.

“Dean! Dean, get down. To the ground, next to Sam!” Jody instructs him, but Dean puts his paws down and doesn’t budge.

“That’s it,” Bobby steps up and grabs Dean around the middle. “My house, my rules, and so when the lady says to move yer ass, ya do that.”

Dean hisses, but knows better than to squirm.

He glares at Sam, because the bastard can flash him a cat version of his bitch face number 6 ‘You’re wasting my time, jerk’.

Just a hair’s width away from tackling his gigantic furball of a brother under the cupboard Jody finally sets down a bowl in front of them. The two cats pounce at the food – and that’s all. It just, well, it’s pretty far from everything they are used to. It looks disgusting and smells no better.

Sam pulls back, and grimaces and mewls in dismay. Dean pokes at the foul mass of pulpous _thing_ , because the time still hasn’t come when Dean Winchester is over the food is food and you eat when you can habits, but even he can’t get himself trying a bite. Soon he, too, sits back on his hunches and joins the chorus of hungry dismay.

Lucifer chuckles and Bobby growls.

“You weren’t this picky even as kids,” he grumbles and puts his hands on his hips.

Imminent as he seems as a giant he is at the moment, the Winchesters are hungry. And they can make a hell of a noise when they are hungry.

“No way, princess’. You eat what you get. Period.”

“Sam thinks you should try a bite of their pulp.” Lucifer interjects sweetly.

“I ain’ no cat, idjit.” Bobby grumbles and glares at the two cats. “You eat what you get. Human food is no good for ya.”

Dean whines. Meat is meat and cats are supposed to be pampered predators so what’s the problem with some bacon? But Bobby is firm on his opinion. If they went through the trouble with Jody to buy them cat food, they better eat it.

He snorts and decides he has gone longer with no food and he can somehow survive two days. _Somehow_. Under the scrutinizing gaze of Cas Dean stands and struts away with his head held high. Fuck his life. All nine of them.

Just as Dean disappeared in the living room does Sam brighten up with a new idea and he heads to the place Lucifer’s sitting.

After a few seconds Dean can catch Sam purring (and probably rubbing himself up against Lucifer’s ankle), Bobby sneering and Jody trying to suppress a chuckle as Lucifer protests half-heartedly, “Oh no, sweetheart, you abandoned me for food, this is so not enough to insinuate yourself back in my favours.”

Then he slips out into the chilly air with the wandering thought of how hard it could be to hunt as a cat? He is a hunter on two feet so he should be able to catch something to eat too? Cast survive on a daily basis somehow after all…

~*~

The next day finds them still as cats.

Dean just woke up and he really is measuring his options if he should stay curled up in a ball, warm and cozy snuggled between two cushions or stretch because he isn’t that young anymore and back pain is a real bitch.  He peers one eye open just to check if it’s as goddamn early as he feels it to be and he should go back to sleep, but before he shuts his eye his gaze catches the form of Sam in the other corner of the couch.

His gigantic – even as a cat – little brother is curled up into a ball, but he isn’t sleeping, he’s just staring into the blue.

He stretches and yawns, because even though he passed up his protective duties to Lucifer, he still is Sammy’s big brother, so groggily he makes his way to Sam and licks his cheek. (They _so_ aren’t talking about this later! He’s only this touchy feely because he is a freaking cat all right?)

Sam turns miserable eyes on his big brother, and okay, Dean knows this look. It means that Lucifer is gone and Sammy is totally heartbroken about it. Especially now, that as a cat both of them are starving for petting and caring, and if Satan has just half as amazing hands at rubbing Sam’s stomach as Cas does, than Dean can totally be a bit sympathetic (and definitely not because Michael is away so often on his Heavenly duties, duh!). He licks at Sam’s face again, nuzzling his nose into the thick fur around his neck, and his little brother doesn’t even try to shove him away. Total heartbreak. Good. No, not like that! Dean has been longing for a reason to strangle the Devil ever since he confessed his undying crazy love for Sammy years back.

Lucifer deserves his perfect white suit to be shredded and covered in cat hair, Dean decides as he sets out to lazily groom Sammy’s fur.

He would deny this ever happened till his dying day and further (and curse Sam to Doomsday and back while retching up disgusting balls of Persian fur). Along with the happy fluttering that takes place in his empty belly as Sam nuzzles into the warmth of his side.

~*~

When he wakes next Dean is situated in Castiel’s lap. It doesn’t freak him out as it is supposed to. And something is poking his forehead. He groans and squints and eye open. It’s Sam again. However, instead of the crestfallen look he seems rather delighted. The kind of delighted that means something bad or embarrassing is about to happen to Dean.

He scrambles to gather his limbs and get away from the two menace in the room – and HOLY SHIT something is jingling!

Still disoriented from sleep, he turns around in one spot, looking frantically for the source of the voice. It only gets more maddening and he is really freaking out now!

That’s when Cas takes mercy on him and as per usual grabs him around the middle to lift him back into his lap and stroke calming, big palms down his back. The tinkling quietens and there is only an occasional dingle now and then.

Dean’s eyes widen in horror—

“I’m sorry my friend,” Cas tells him, and his voice sounds disturbingly honest – for which Dean is utterly grateful at the moment. “This was the price Jody demanded in exchange for getting you some tuna.”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to scare Jody every time and then poncing for some food while she was busy preparing dinner. But hey! Did he hear _tuna_?

Bell in his neck forgotten for the time being (he is going to have some words with Jody about treating adult men as pets as soon as he can phrase his dismay in more than just mewls and hisses) he leaps from Castiel’s lap and in a dash he is in the kitchen, mewling for Cas who is way too slow for an angel to feed him if he’s the one left on kitty-sitting duty.

~*~

If they were human, Sam and Dean would have burst their sides with laughter that’s for sure. The poor fox-terrier they shocked by not running with flagged tails when she barked at them wished for claws and they only needed like two more minutes before they managed to chase her up a tree.

The owner of course wasn’t that delighted and she refused to budge even under Castiel’s scrutinizing gaze. She’s a harpy, and Cas got so fed up with her that he had to call for backup – which is the sole reason why Lucifer looks so smug. The bastard doesn’t even try to look slightly remorseful for the Devil’s pawn of a cat he has that traumatized Mrs. Whoever’s doggie.

“Fox-terriers are hunting-dogs ma’am,” Castiel interrupts before Lucifer can say something to see how much it takes for the woman to burst a vein in her forehead.

“And so what?!” she snaps back. “My poor Cindy, these two evil beasts scared her! She’s such a well-behaved darling! You should tame your pets better!”

“I believe in natural selection,” Lucifer quips with a malicious smile, and with Sam in his arms only the plush swivel-chair’s missing to look like a villain of an old-school spy movie.

Mrs. Whoever gasps in indignation, “How- that’s cruel! How dare you—“ and she gathers her poor dog in her arms and turns to leave.

“Devil’s privilege,” Lucifer calls after her merrily and his smile widens as she jumps and glares back at them.

“Was it really necessary?” Cas sighs and lifts his anguished gaze at his brother.

“What’s the fun otherwise?” Lucifer shrugs and kisses the top of Sam’s head. On their way back he keeps on mumbling to Sam, and even if Dean really isn’t that curious about the exact phrasing, he picks up that Lucifer is pretty proud of his favourite human.

Unfortunately the same cannot be said about Cas. The angel is currently glaring daggers at him. Dean sits back on his hunches and offers his best innocent look. It’s kind of easier in cat-form, he can round his eyes even bigger. No kidding, he sure looks like that Puss-in-Boots fellow and his secret-weapon kicked-kitty look.

“Don’t bother Dean, I won’t believe you are the victim here,” Cas tells him on a total deadpan voice.

Dean intensifies his kicked and innocent look.

“I can read your thoughts, remember?”

 _Fuck you man, couldn’t you do that two hours ago?_ Dean thinks and now he is the one glaring. Crawling out of the toilet bowl wasn’t fun. At all. (Another thing they are so _not_ going to talk about. Ever.)

Cas’ mouth twitches slightly. He leans down to scratch Dean behind the ear, and oh, fuck, Dean is so screwed, because he’s like putty in the angel’s hand every time he does that! It is so unfair!

~*~

The next day, despite their brotherly bonding with Sam and their successful hunt, finds Dean in the miserable state. He feels awful and not even Castiel’s sympathetic magic hands can get him into a better mood.

It was traumatizing enough to be woken up cradled to the hot and way too naked chest of his little brother curled up around him on a couch he had outgrown like ten years ago. The fact though, that it would be only more awkward if the two of them would be back in human form is a weak consolation. Okay, that the two of them cuddling naked, which was so not okay, but animal transformation clearly included no clothes, would have been a memory Dean would go as far as beg Michael to bleach from his brain – if the fucker would saunter his holy ass down to earth! – but the main problem stands all the same. You know. Not being human.

Two days down, Sam is probably busy fucking Lucifer to make up for all the horrors of taking care of a pet – what a diva! – and Dean still has four legs and no thumbs and still purrs when he’s scratched behind his ear.

What the fuck is that with spells lasting longer on him?!

The only thing that could finally drop some honey in the bitter cup was that Dean was surprisingly good at hunting. All right, it took a few hours to get used to how and when to put which paw and how to direct his leaps, but now dare he say, he mastered the art of hunting.

What could be better proof than the sparrow dangling from his mouth (he will need to brush his teeth for hours after this!) as he struts back into the house.

His strut quickly changes into careful treading, because damn, the atmosphere inside is tense. He has no idea why, though. Bobby is busy out in the yard, while Jody is at the sheriff office…

Oh, hello Michael, nice from you to honour us with your holy presence!

Dean only casts a glance at the archangel, black, immaculate suit, sitting in an armchair as if he owned the place, while Cas sits in the corner of the couch, his gaze hanging on his superior. Dean scoffs around his mouthful of dead bird. Measuring of dicks again…

Neither angel recognizes his presence until he drops the sparrow at Castiel’s feet and mewls high in his throat.

“Oh,” Cas squints down at him. “Is that for me?”

 _Duh_ , Dean says with his head tilted to the side, _what else, you idiot?_

“I don’t need your proof that you are a great hunter, Dean,” Cas tells him kindly and reaches down to scratch his head.

 _It’s a proof that I am better than you_ , _bitch,_ Dean thinks smugly, but the edge is already taken away.

“You know I like you a bit more humble.”

Michael hasn’t moved since Dean entered the room, he might have even stopped breathing. Not that he needs it.

“I see, you haven’t gotten out of your childish games, Dean,” Michael notes dryly.

Dean has been considering giving it up just so that he could rub his hand up into the warm arch of Michael’s palm and feel his presence pulsing like life in the veins of his vessel, but if he is such a dick, why should Dean make the first move?

So he only hisses, turns his back on the archangel and rather rubs his flank to Castiel’s leg.

He immediately knows that he stepped over a line when Cas tenses up – and the next moment Dean is swiped up from the ground. The touch feels like fire cursing through his limbs then there is a pull to his guts, and shit! It’s even worse than leaping to the ground from the top of the cupboard!

Next second he is standing on shivering feet, while his claws scream on the cold marble floor, and he just wishes he clamped them down still into Michael’s forearm!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finished the introduction to my thesis, but sadly, still have a massive part to finish in like the net week... so probably no update until then :( But when I finish that monster, I'll finish this one too, I swear! :) with some actual Dean and Michael fluff.
> 
> Until then, I hope you enjoyed! :)


	3. Chapter 3

_“What greater gift than the love of a cat.”_   
_― Charles Dickens_

Dean wants to scream and cuss and curse like a sailor, swear until Michael has enough of him and snaps his finger to shut him up, then threaten to wash his mouth out with holy water because he is sure not going to kiss him otherwise – but of course he can’t! There is no sound to escape his muzzle, not even a tiny mewl, FUCKING NOTHING!

Cats don’t like being zapped through God knows how many miles! He wants to cry and if he could he would peel his claws off of the marble and launch at Michael’s leg, because the son of a bitch deserves it, but all he can do is glare.

And oh, does Michael receive the mother of all glares!

However, he is not moved even the tiniest. If anything his expression softens, and okay, maybe if Dean wasn’t so angry and traumatized he could piss himself, Dean would be swooned on the spot. Michael’s dark hair is ruffled in the wind and the way the light graces his sharp features should definitely be illegal.

Michael smiles gently with his eyes and crouches to reach a hand out for Dean.

“I thought you would be accustomed to flying.” Michael says and after Dean doesn’t flinch away just turns up the intensity of his glare, because that’s all he can do, the angel reaches out and strokes Dean’s head.

_I’m still terrified of flying, Chuckles, shut the fuck up!_

“You hunt monsters and have been to Heaven and Hell and of all things, you are afraid of flying. Shouldn’t you work on that a bit?”

_You are the one who needs therapy, pal, leave me hanging._

Michael chuckles (he apparently has nothing against reading Dean’s thoughts) and as he keeps on talking, Dean slowly feels his muscles loosen up and his claws unclamp from the hard ground. This gentle drawl, the soft melody of the well-pronounced syllables, and Oh sweet Jesus, his hand is just _marvellous_!

_Sorry, Cas, Michael beat your magic hands…_

“You were crafted perfect for me, Dean,” Michael murmurs. “And I for you in return.”

_Shut up, Buttercup_ , Dean thinks, because this song always remains the same, _I’m enjoying my massage…_

Before he realizes it his eyes slip shut, and his hind legs bend so that he is sitting back on his hunches and leans into Michael’s palm, because it’s warm and just firm enough to rub away all the tension from his irritatingly small frame.

Dean is so enchanted by the _awesome_ petting that he doesn’t even protest when Michael gathers him back up in his arms. He only recognizes that he isn’t on ground-level anymore when one of his legs slip off and he jerks as it teeters in thin air. He mewls and leans into Michael’s firm chest, but after he’s calmed he glances around curiously.

Damn, they seem to be high up!

Last time he checked, the wind was gone two days ago with the rainclouds, but here under the clear, though a bit greyish gold sky it ruffles his fur, and if it wasn’t for the warmth of Michael’s body, there would be chills chasing each other along his spine.

He is set down on the wide railing of the balcony – it is cool against his paws and the texture is smooth – the wind pulls at his fur, and Dean’s fighting curiosity and terror in his guts. Because they are really freaking high up, he thinks those tufts of white are wandering lost clouds below – and that’s fascinating. But still, what if he falls? That would be one hell of a flight…

“You have nothing to worry, Dean.”

Dean tears his entranced gaze from the depth and looks up at Michael. The angel is leaning on his elbows next to him, even though under the suit jacket Dean can only guess the strong lines of muscles flexing as he shifts his weight closer to the cat, but in the pale glow of the afternoon he is beautiful.

_Goddamnit!_ he thinks and is awfully close to just flinging himself off the balcony, because this is embarrassing.

“Do you think I would let you fall?” Michael asks softly.

Dean just huffs and turns away.

Next, there is a careful hand under his chin and Michael breaths a long, gentle kiss to the top of his head.

Dean is utterly grateful cats can’t blush.

 

~*~

 

The penthouse Michael picked to spend his time on Earth when it wasn’t just a quick few hours visit was pretty nice. Even though at first Dean felt a bit intimidated, because it was too clean, too clear-out, too modern and there was nothing home-y about it.

The walls are radiating white, the tall windows are framed with frothy curtains with gold and rich blue stripes at the end (it was only fascinating because he is a cat now, and they are just fun to play with), even the fireplace is white. Then the furniture is blue, greyish shades on the armchairs and deep-deep blue for the sofa.

It took Michael a few leaves from Heaven to make it theirs (obviously they started with the bed) but now Dean can lunge on the sofa as if he has spent most of his life in the immaculate house.

Only this time he is hiding under said bed. Just as pissed as before, only now he is also a tiny bit afraid as well.

He was just about to forgive Michael for being so high and important upstairs, after all that little spiel out on the balcony was sweet too and napping curled up in Michael’s lap was like Heaven.

Until Dean woke from his comfy daze for the absence of Michael’s hand stroking his back.

It wouldn’t be a real reason to start bitching, he knows that all right? At first Dean, too, thought that Michael might have fallen asleep (as much as the archangel didn’t need a wink of shut eye, he slowly took up the habit of dozing off, which was all kind of adorable) but then as Dean inspected his mate’s features more thoroughly he realized that the frown, that would usually disappear when Michael slept was just as deep and dark when Michael was in the same room as Castiel, brows furrowed and jaw tight, and he didn’t flinch when Dean licked his face.

It dawned on Dean that Michael was _working_. He was hung up on angel-radio.

Hot anger seethed in his belly and before he knew what he was doing he hopped off Michael’s lap and set off to destroy the suite.

Because Michael fucking deserved it! Dean has been craving for his boyfriend’s attention, and he was still a goddamn cat! He had the right to let out some steam.

Next time the angel opened his bright eyes with a deep frown, the room was a mess. If a bomb went off it would have left less destruction in its wake.

Books and vases were thrown to the ground, shattered and pages torn out. The covers on the furniture shredded, the curtain torn from its hinges, feathers from the pillows and ash from the fireplace covered the floor. And in the middle of it sat Dean with, fur standing on ends on his back, sharp hiss in his throat and air shivering with anger along with the most intense glare Michael had ever received.

“Dean.”

Dean bristled slightly at the warning tone, but he was _angry_.

_You son of a bitch!_ he spat and glowered. _You kidnapped me just to ignore me again?!_

“You are overreacting.” Michael told him calmly. So outrageously condescending. “You were sleeping.”

_Am I boring you, your highness?!_

“I just took my time to get business done. Better than the empty time when you’re unaware of yourself.”

Dean hissed.

_Sorry for being such a pathetic little man! So what, you’d just ditch me ‘cause I need some fucking sleep?_

Michael didn’t answer that just stared back at the cat in front of him.

Dean’s claws kneaded slowly at the carpet.

_Take me back to Cas!_

A pause.

“Pardon me?” Cold, Michael’s voice froze and it meant he was getting frustrated as well.

_You heard me, bitch! Zap me back to Cas, before I test if cat prayers count as well!_

As Michael stood in one fluid motion, so angelic and so inhuman with that mask of indifference it was terrifying, and Dean stood as well to back off just a little.

Michael reached out for him and despite all Dean’s struggling and twisting he grabbed him and lifted him off the ground.

Dean hissed, but it was totally Michael’s fault. He didn’t take the warning, Dean was a cat for crying out loud, he had instincts, and what would be a knife stabbed in the chest, or a gun blown to the head was then his claws to Michael’s face.

Both of them were so surprised that the attack resulted in four bleeding scars on the archangel’s cheek that Michael dropped Dean, and the cat took the first opportunity to flee.

So he hid under their bed.

He knew, obviously, that if Michael got really angry with him, there was nowhere he could hide, but the darkness soothed his shivering even if just a bit.

He wonders if he finally managed to cross a line. Michael has been patient, and when they finally had some time for each other after some persuasion ready and eager to please Dean, but he is also proud and prickly when it comes to order and obedience. Dean isn’t sure if it was too much rebellion.

There really is no doubt that he feels that impossible-four-letter-word for Michael and he wants to be with him but there are just things he won’t take back. Dean knows he was right. He _is_ right. Damn, Michael deserved those scars, and it really shouldn’t be such a big deal since he can just magic them away…

But then why does he feel so miserable?

Miserable and sad and resigned, not even terrified as he hears the water in the shower turn off, and barely a minute later he hears Michael’s soft steps, nearly silent on the carpets of the rooms.

He sees Michael’s ankles as he pads into the bedroom. The angel moves around, and Dean’s tiny heart churns and he desperately fights this devastating feeling called hope – Michael has picked up several human gestures, and even though he constantly bitches about the tedious human means and tardiness of driving, but if he still takes his time to get dressed then he surely isn’t that mad at Dean is he?

Michael stands in the middle of the room. He sighs. Pauses.

“Dean,” he calls, and Dean swallows hard. He only doesn’t scramble into the furthest, darkest corner under the bed because he’s too nervous to move.

“Dean, don’t—“ Michael trails away and it’s pretty clear that he is annoyed.

Jeans rustling as he moves, Michael walks to the bed and carefully sits down.

“I’m not angry with you, Dean.” Michael says gently.

If it wasn’t so quiet Dean could hear his own panting breathing he surely would miss it as only the sound of a soft breeze. Michael never really talks like this, he is way too used to his voice ringing crystal clear and bouncing back from the walls and the dome of heavens even without raising the volume.

“Please,” Michael breathes. “I can’t abide you being in such misery.”

Dean wants to sink into the carpet in shame. There is something embarrassing in Michael picking up on every single time Dean is about to drown himself in self-loathing, and he doesn’t need the pity. He doesn’t need Michael to come back to him because he is this pathetic little human who cannot survive a day alone without putting himself through some serious emotional roller coaster.

“Don’t misunderstand me. _I_ feel remorseful. You deserve better, but I would sooner have you hate me than surrendering you to Castiel.”

That makes a small stripe of warmth curl in Dean’s chest. Michael is adorable in his jealousy when he is not so terrifying like a lightning-storm on your doorstep.

Dean crawls out from under the bed and settles carefully between Michael’s feet. He looks up along the jeans-clad legs, the worn grey shirt over his chest up to a glimmering small smile that’s more like the trick of shadows than actual muscles in the archangel’s scarred face…

He only doesn’t bolt because Michael’s eyes pin him to the spot.

Cowering to the ground he stares up with wide eyes and mewls high, and if he thought he was miserable under the bed? He is mauled by guilt now.

_Why are they still on your face?_

Michael reaches up and touches the red scars that run from the sharp edge of his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth.

“As a reminder I suppose,” he says thoughtful. “I don’t even feel them actually.”

_Sentimental fucking idiot!_

“I have never been accused of such.”

Dean offers an uncertain squint and rubs his head to Michael’s calf.

Moving slowly, as not to startle the cat again, Michael picks him up and repositions Dean in his lap. His fingers immediately find that perfect spot behind Dean’s ear, and it is _wonderful_.

“I am truly sorry, love.” It’s only Michael’s fingers that make Dean purr in ecstasy, and definitely not the endearment. “I’m all yours now.”

_You always are, you dumb bastard._

 

~*~

 

They relocate on the couch (the room is as pristine as if the hurricane named Dean has never been near its vacancy) because it provides Dean more options to rub himself up to Michael without the angel tensing up (out of habit, because most of the time he doesn’t appreciate it when Dean pounces him and knocks him over – cat or human either way), and most of all there’s a huge-ass flat-screen TV.

Michael is not a great fan of Dr. Sexy MD, but he is determined to endure the two hours of re-runs. He is sure Dean meant his threats about him tuning back into angel radio to get away from the wonders of TV-land.

After the second episode the sky starts darkening outside and it is affecting Dean’s otherwise easy mood. The cat falls silent, and a morose cloud settles over him. He turns shiny, big green eyes at Michael.

_How much longer?_

There is the lingering thought if it really is permanent on him. It is laced with bitter questions as for why Michael doesn’t change him back immediately, he is a pain in the ass in this tiny body, he is useless, a fur ball nothing else, or is this the way how Michael wants to get rid of him and…

“It’s better if the changing process is not interfered with,” Michael murmurs and rubs his hand down Dean’s spine. “It’s not even another day. I promise.”

Michael is reluctant to admit, but there is something endearing in their current situation. That he can finally dwell in the whole-scale opportunities of having a vessel. Physical contact, not that he has been lacking in that field with Dean, quite the contrary, but it feels nice how Dean leans into his touches, how he grows boneless and relaxed under his hand, how easy it is to satisfy the human (cat) and to finally lull him far away from the shadows of his life. He understands that they would never be as clingy and ‘touchy-feely’ as Lucifer is with Sam. Michael doesn’t mind. But he would be stupid not to relish in each moment like this.

 

~*~

 

There is a strip of pale gold and warmth that falls across Dean’s face. Roused from his sleep he wrinkles up his nose and eyebrows. He doesn’t want to wake up yet. The sheets and Michael’s side is _so_ comfy, he never wants to leave. Not that he could go hunting like this.

Instincts soothed (until still half-asleep, his mind provides him with the mental image of a werewolf chasing him while Sam is racing after wielding a silver spear and that bastard Lucifer laughs his ass off on the sidelines) he snuggles into the crook of Michael’s shoulder and flings one leg over the angel’s smooth hip…

He near immediately jolts awake.

Dean looks along himself – He is finally at normal height when he props himself up on his elbow, and _Holy mother of fuck!_ he finally has his hands back! No fur, no tail, no whiskers (his nose still tickles with the phantom-feel of those sensitive long lines of hair) – and the best, he can finally get some normal food. Goddamnit, Michael is so much taking him out to breakfast first thing after they get up!

Michael stirs next to him.

Dean grins. Isn’t his angel cute when he still hasn’t gotten used to waking up?

Shifting his leg over Michael’s hip a bit higher, Dean leans down and with the echo of a lazy purr that still lingers in his throat he pokes and nuzzles at Michael’s neck, following the line of tendons up to his ear, and with tiny kitten licks he settles to finally rouse his boyfriend to full wakefulness.

Michael’s eyebrows crinkle, he grumbles and with one blissfully disoriented hand tries to push Dean away. Who would have thought? Dean grins again and nips at the ear lobe in front of him. (He vaguely remembers Sam being all buckles of sunshine and Lucifer ruffled and grumpy after the couple slept in – even though Michael’s knowing smirk was enough to know that Satan was putting up an act to shield his vanity.) Archangels loved lazing around in bed when they finally got the hang of sleeping.

“Dean,” Michael grumbles and he attempts another push to Dean’s side this time.

A purr rumbles in Dean’s chest as Michael’s fingers played along his ribs. That’s when Michael’s eyes finally squint open.

“Morning,” Dean murmurs. His voice is hoarse and even deeper than usual. Just for good measure he licks at Michael’s face too.

Michael stares at him with those clouded, but underneath already calculating eyes. That’s the look that never ceases to make Dean shiver and warmth coils in the pit of his stomach and his toes curl and his throat grows tight in anticipation; the look that makes Michael’s eyes lit up like the sky when thin foils of fluffy clouds cannot cover the golden radiance of the sun—

Hissing in surprise Dean swears he will never allow himself to get lost in Michael’s eyes again, because that gives too much time for the son of a bitch to pounce on him.

Suddenly Dean is sprawled on his back, legs bent on either side of Michael’s hips. Both of their lower bodies are entangled in the sheets but it doesn’t make it any less obvious that Dean is very naked and getting really-really hot and hard at the press of Michael’s marvel-carved muscles over him. Dean snuggles back into the nest of pillows and blankets and looks back at the angel with hooded, blown green eyes. A slow, crooked smile stretches his lips.

“Now, how are you going to make up for being an ass to me?”

Over him Michael shivers slightly and Dean can’t help but shift his hips to be pressed closer into the warmth and the hardening length of Michael even through the sheets. Even if it wasn’t for the delicious friction he can lazily grind himself against, the sight of Michael stretching his neck, his clouded eyes fluttering close and lips parting into a silent breath of a sigh would make Dean all hot and ready to be claimed. The fact that his still long nails scratching the angel’s sensitive shoulder blades earned such reaction is making him even more heady with desire.

“So-oo?” Dean drawls expectantly.

Michael’s eyes blink open and there already is the shadow of a frown, but before Dean can taunt him any more for how cute he is this sleepy and disoriented Michael ducks his head and claims Dean’s mouth in a hot, deep kiss that leaves his hunter breathless. Michael only pulls back so far that their lips still brush whenever Dean pants for breath. Until Dean has enough and nips at the kiss-swollen lips and Michael jerks his head away with a disbelieving shadow of a smile.

“You still have a cat’s teeth,” he notes with an awfully elegant quirk of his eyebrow.

Dean grins wide, showcasing all his pointy teeth. He will leave pretty pin-point marks on Michael, he decides.

“And not just teeth,” he purrs – he will miss this sound. There is a sight in Michael’s eyelashes fluttering and his muscles ripple under golden skin at Dean purring low and seductive.

Claws scratch along the line of Michael’s shoulder and down his arm, playful and teasing.

Michael hums then lowers his head and Dean entangles his fingers in the dark, thick mass of hair as the angel nuzzles and kisses his way up his throat. He draws lazy circles on Michael’s back and just as comfortably, with all time in the world at his hands grinds his hips up against the other’s. There isn’t really that much need and lust in his movements, he more like seeks the pleasure of just being close, warm skin on skin, touching, stroking, caressing—

_Oh!_ Dean doesn’t even have to swallow down his curse as his whole body goes slack, all limbs loose and he is just incredibly happy and content with this ugly world. Sun is filtering through the thin curtains and Michael just found that spot behind his ear that makes everything _perfect_.

Michael chuckles low – Dean feels it more in his chest than he hears it even with the angel up at his ear.

“Looks like to me that you’ll need some more time for the feline habits to pass off.”

Dean really wants to bite back with something clever, but right now he is too blissed-out. He doesn’t even care if he is still hard or not, he could just as well have had an orgasm for as much as he knows…

Though, for the record he really wishes these cat-like features won’t be ever-lasting because then he is so damned. He has way too many sensitive-spots that Michael uses all against him, he doesn’t need one more. Especially not like _this_.

The angel, however, doesn’t mind. He is content petting Dean, running his fingers through his mussed hair, tracing his way down behind his other ear along his neck and to his collarbone while on the opposite side he is busy suckling indolent little marks into the soft skin.

That is until Dean’s stomach grumbles.

Michael makes fun of him and Dean gives a pathetic attempt at kicking the immovable angel off himself, because no shit, he hasn’t eaten much yesterday (“ _Nerves, Michael. Fuck you, man, it’s all your fault! You have no idea how terrifying you are when you’re pissed!_ ”) and he will strangle anyone who ever-ever tries to feed him fish. Michael included.

After a good ten minutes of bickering (3 spent with praying Michael off Dean, and the next 6 Dean demanding at least some pants not to showcase his perky ass to the whole world, because they _are_ going _out_ ) Dean cursed Michael to Hell and back for just zapping them around without proper warning, creating quite a scene in front of the most unhealthy diner Dean could ever wish for.

They also serve the best cherry-pies ever.

Maybe Dean will eventually forgive Michael. _Maybe_.

 

( _No one_ was talking about how he was lapping at his milk-coffee.)

(Or how he hissed when someone walked their enormous dog by the window where they were sitting.)

(Or how he forgot about his size for the moment and tried to curl up on the table in a patch of sunlight.)

(Even if Michael’s gentle smile nearly made it worth all the trouble and glares.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, and I'm finally done with a multi-chaptered fanfc! Damn, this feels good :) (And also I'm done with my thesis as well, if anyone was wondering.)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it too. Thank you for the kudos, they make my little heart flutter. And the comments reduce me to sobbing, happy puddle of goo :) Thank you very much for reading. Let me know if you liked it :)
> 
> (Now I only have to gather myself together and re-learn German so that by the end of May I can present an intermediate knowledge... Cross your fingers for me!)


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